


In The Quiet of Morning

by annalore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Hogwarts, M/M, dealing with grief, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-14
Updated: 2005-03-14
Packaged: 2019-07-14 05:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalore/pseuds/annalore
Summary: Remus never meant to keep secrets from his friends.  Now, on Christmas morning, it’s too much for him to bear.





	In The Quiet of Morning

Christmas morning is a time Remus Lupin has always particularly enjoyed. He reminds himself of this as he sits in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. It’s been his tradition ever since he can remember to wake up before dawn, creep down the stairs, and read in front of the fire, a blanket around his shoulders. His parents would come down around ten to find him warm, drowsy, and completely engrossed in his novel. His mother would sit down next to him, wrap an arm around his shoulders, and his father would get the presents.

It’s all different now. Of course it’s all different now. Remus stares into the flames, huddled up against one of the armchairs, his arms wrapped around his knees. It will never be the same again, and there’s no use in trying to pretend.

He hasn’t the concentration for reading. The truth is, he didn’t wake up early; he hasn’t slept at all. He spent half the night lying in bed, the gray gloom weighing on him, the heavy breath of his dorm mates making him claustrophobic. Downstairs is better, but he still feels a little like screaming, or crying. He wishes he could cry, even here, where he’d humiliate himself in front of everyone — they’re all still asleep, but they won’t stay that way for long.

When Remus had said he was staying over holidays, James and Sirius hadn’t hesitated. They’d put their names down as well, forsaking a trip to Spain with the Potters. Peter had already been staying, but claimed he would’ve signed up anyway, if everyone else was too. Remus is grateful for his friends, but he doesn’t know quite how to give up on the lie he’s been telling for over half a year now. He doesn’t even know why he’s done it, why he’s pretended nothing’s wrong. Most of all, he wishes he weren’t the one with all the problems.

It’s silly and selfish. He knows that. Nobody’s life is perfect, not his, not Peter’s or Sirius’s, or even James’s. It’s stupid to go wishing that James would have a row with his parents, or Sirius’s family would do something spectacularly and publicly nasty. It’s stupid to furiously wish that Wormtail would make a fool of himself in lessons or get dumped by his third girlfriend that year. It’s stupid, and what’s more, it’s cruel. He shouldn’t be envying them. They each have their own issues to deal with, though he’s sure none of his friends has ever kept such a huge and terrible secret for nearly so long.

He hears movement on the stair, the soft slap of bare feet against polished wood. For a desperate second, he wishes he could hide, but he’s long since too big to fit under the sofas. And then he wishes… for absolution, maybe. He wishes he could share his secrets, and he wishes it could be easy.

“Moony?” Sirius asks softly. Not whether he’s there, but where he is. 

Remus does not answer, but Sirius finds him quickly enough anyway. The common room is not that big, and Remus is not hiding; he is merely out of sight, on the ground between the chair and the fireplace.

Sirius sits down on the throw rug and studies the pattern. He does not look at Remus, so Remus tries not to look at him. This particular rug was new last year and there are rough patches in the carpeting here and there, because it does not lie quite the same as the one it replaced.

It’s easier that it’s Sirius, Remus thinks. Sirius is loud and obnoxious and incredibly trying at turns, but he knows when to be quiet. He knows when to listen. Remus feels like he’s listening now, though they’re not talking. They’re not even looking at each other. But it’s easier. He can breathe, at least, when he thinks about talking, and only feels a little bit sick.

He looks up from the floor at the same time as Sirius does, and their eyes meet. If he had to choose one person to know his secrets, each and every one without reserve, Remus knows it would be Sirius. But that still doesn’t make it any easier to tell, to put things into words. He looks back at the fire, breaking the eye contact. There’s a lump in his throat, and he feels sick more than afraid or upset, or more than anything, really.

If only Sirius would talk. If only he’d ask what was wrong. Remus is not particularly vain, but he knows Sirius is perfectly aware that something is bothering him. After nearly seven years of living in close quarters, it would be odd not to be able to judge the mood of a best friend, or to know his habits. Sirius, in particular, has always seemed perceptive about these things. Though, perhaps it is only because Remus has been more apt to turn to him in the past.

Sirius shifts, and before Remus can wonder if he’s leaving, he moves back against the sofa, resting his head on a cushion. His head is tilted up and his eyes fix on a high point on the wall. It’s above the crack that James made with a wayward spell in third year and below the stain created by an unfortunate incident with Dungbombs in fifth.

“I always hated Christmas. When it meant going home, I hated it more than anything.” Sirius is not confessing. Remus knows this, because he knows how much Sirius hates his family; it is not a subject about which he is particularly reticent. “It’s a good deal Prongs’s mum doesn’t mind taking in strays.”

Remus does not need to know that Sirius is looking at him again to recognize an opening. “Last summer,” he begins, and his voice sounds weak and odd. And he’s afraid now, desperately afraid in a way he managed to avoid during the summer. He’s afraid of losing his friends due to his betrayal of trust, but more, he’s afraid of his insides being cut open and his frailties spilling out for all to see.

He hurts all over from thinking about it. Or maybe that’s just his legs cramping; he can’t quite tell and doesn’t bother to check. Last summer. He barely even knows how he lived through it. How he’s lived through any of it. He closes his eyes and whimpers. Negative images of the flames burn themselves into the back of his eyelids. “Please don’t hate me,” he whispers, though he’s not sure if it’s loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“I still have the owl you sent me,” Sirius says. Remus perfectly recalls the note, hastily scribbled on a spare bit of parchment and posted with a borrowed owl. _Sirius —_ it had read _Do you think Mrs. Potter would mind terribly if I came to spend the rest of the summer? Remus_. It had been dreadfully formal, and he still cringed inwardly at the thought of how he’d invited himself over. But what else could he have done, really? “I told James we should have you over immediately,” Sirius continues, “that I couldn’t last a single day more without the magnificent Mr. Moony.” He shrugs. “Prongs already thinks I’m off it.”

Remus is mildly shocked. At the time, nobody had mentioned the suddenness of the arrangements, or that he’d invited himself by way of Sirius and not James, though it was James’s house. He hadn’t even been teased by his friends about the way he’d been so forward. He had noticed the lack — it is not that James and Sirius never are; it is only that it is a flaw he is not well known for possessing — but it had not occurred to him that Sirius might have lied about the whole thing.

Outside, it is only just starting to get light, and it is snowing. Remus thinks of snowmen and sledding, which are for children. He thinks of his home, the rickety steps up to the attic, and the basement that was always cold in the summers. The way the snow would fall in the yard, and the way his father would shovel while his mum made hot chocolate and tea. It is Christmas morning, and this has always been one of his favorite times of year.

“I never asked you why,” Sirius adds, as if the whole thing is therefore somehow his fault. But Remus knows he would not have told, that he would’ve done anything to avoid telling. It is for that reason he wrote Sirius and not James. Sirius knows when not to ask, but he always remembers, for later. James badgers, tears you out of yourself and then moves on. That’s how he’d prefer to be treated himself, but it’s not how Remus is. It’s not how he works.

“My mum. She always told me to be polite. That I should thank people and never ask for more than I was given.” His voice breaks, but he can breathe. The fire crackles, flickers and reflects in Sirius eyes as they look at each other. Remus’s hands are clammy, and he wipes them on his trousers.

“The full moon is the day after the holidays,” Sirius says. Remus, of course, knows this, and is aware that Sirius knows it too. They are not talking at odds, though they are getting at the point in a rather roundabout way. Sirius does not _know_ — he would never have kept his silence if he did — but he has noticed more than Remus has given him credit for.

“It’s not really about last summer.” Remus runs his thumbnail through the carpeting and focuses on a point just behind Sirius. “It was in May. The seventeenth of May.”

There is no way to say it but to say it, and Remus is not sure that he can. He is very close to tears and if he could talk, he would ask if Sirius could please _help him_. He has barely been touched since his parents died, and he longs to be hugged and comforted and simply held.

“Fuck. Remus.” Remus closes his eyes to blink back tears, and then somehow Sirius is right beside him. Trust Sirius to get it. Trust Sirius. “Your parents?” he breathes.

“It was an automobile accident. It was instant.” Remus’s eyes sting, and he scrubs them angrily with the heels of his hands.

“Moony… Fuck.” Sirius catches one of Remus’s hands, runs his thumb over the palm. Their faces are uncomfortably close. “Last summer? Christmas?” Whether Sirius is asking for confirmation or if he really isn’t sure, Remus cannot tell.

“The house. There was debt — the bank. I didn’t go home for the holidays because I haven’t got one anymore. I haven’t got anything.” The words are not self pitying so much as they are miserable. Sirius now has Remus’s hand in both of his, fingers moving over the skin, lending and stealing heat at the same time.

“Fuck,” Sirius whispers a third time. He’s usually more eloquent, or at least more varied, but Remus notes abstractly that he doesn’t seem angry. Perhaps that part comes later; he hasn’t much experience in this.

“I’ve always really _liked_ Christmas,” he says, and there’s a bubble of hysteria in his voice. Suddenly he can’t breathe, but it’s because he’s being crushed against Sirius’s chest. It’s no more than a second before Sirius pulls back, apparently thinking better of the hug. They’re still very close; Remus can practically feel Sirius’s breath against his skin. There is something in Sirius’s eyes that reminds Remus of how he used to be with his friends when they were all younger, before he’d learned reserve.

Sirius is not saying much, and he has not asked why Remus never told. Perhaps he understands, though Remus isn’t sure he does himself. He has no idea how he feels, no sense of himself at all. There is only the look in Sirius’s eyes, then the feeling of Sirius’s hand on his cheek, which he leans into. There is the immediacy of now.

“Moony,” Sirius exhales, and it is a prayer of the penitent on his lips. He moves closer and their noses bump, then their foreheads touch. Remus takes a breath. Sirius’s eyes are the entirety of his field of vision and Sirius’s hand has moved to the back of his neck. Sirius’s lips are warm and slightly dry and it feels weird for Remus to be opening his mouth to his best friend’s. He has never been kissed before.

It is not a romantic sort of kiss. Truthfully, Remus doesn’t know what sort it is, or even what sorts of kisses there are in general. He has never actually thought of kissing Sirius, and he’s not really thinking about it now. He breathes when they separate, his hands in Sirius’s hair, their foreheads pressed together.

“You have me,” Sirius says, vicious in his insistence. Remus breathes, because he can, and he’s sharing the same air as Sirius. “You have _me_ , Moony.” Sirius’s arms are around him, his hands warm on the small of Remus’s back. Remus is not sure where the separation between them lies, and he is afraid.

It is only a small movement that brings their lips back together. It’s awkward and unchoreographed. This time, it is Remus pushing closer, Remus taking control. Sirius groans low in his throat, making a shudder run through Remus’s body. His heart beats a fast staccato.

Remus thinks of his father, remembers him asking if there was any special girl he’d noticed at school. _No, Dad_ , he’d always answered, _no_. And it was not because of this, because he’d really never thought of _this_ before. He thinks of his mother, face flushed and pink on her twentieth wedding anniversary, telling about the first time she kissed his father.

He chokes and pulls away, embarrassed at the intimacy, his cheeks flaming. He barely notices they’re wet too, and he’s sobbing. “You have me,” Sirius whispers again as he pulls Remus in, holds him to his chest like a child. Remus knows his shoulders must be thin and boney under Sirius’s arms. He feels small and insubstantial, a wraith next to a living person.

“I’m still not used to this,” he confesses, his voice hoarse and muffled by the material of Sirius’s t-shirt. It feels good to talk; it is not nearly as terrible as he feared. “I can never tell why you’d want to be friends with me.” Remus’s body shudders as he takes deep, calming breaths. “It’s arrogance, I suppose. To think that I’m different, especially when all I’ve ever wanted was to be the same as everyone else.”

Sirius strokes Remus’s back and Remus wonders where Sirius learned this type of gentleness. His brother is not that much younger that he would’ve had to hold and soothe him. “I used to lie to my parents about everything,” Sirius says. “Whether I’d cleaned my room or forced Reg to do it, how I’d gotten my new shoes dirty, what I spent my allowance on, my marks in school…” His hand stills and he exhales slowly. “I guess I thought that if I lied, if I gave them a complete fiction, they’d never be able to really get at me, because they’d never really know me.”

Remus wonders idly if he is telling the truth or making things up. He decides it doesn’t matter, because he understands what Sirius is trying to say. Remus has told himself that he trusts his friends, that he has given them as much as they have him. He realizes now that that was another lie. But he has begun, at least, to let the walls down, and he is no less himself than when he started.

He pulls back and stretches his legs, which are cramped. It is nearly light outside and it is still Christmas morning. Remus has some gold — enough to buy what he feels are fairly good presents, if not enough to have kept his house or stored much of anything. He would like to enjoy himself, though he’s not sure he’ll be able to. He _has_ been happy since May, however infrequently. He knows his mother would want him to have fun with his friends while he’s still able, and that his father would tell him to take life as it comes, because you never get it back.

Remus shifts closer to Sirius, who is watching him as if waiting for a cue. He must not know that Remus does not have the lines. Remus is still wondering what to say when a noise from the dorms alerts him that James and Peter will be down soon. They still have some time, though; James refuses to be seen without showering these days, and he’ll wake Peter (who sleeps like the dead) when he’s done.

“Sirius…” Remus starts, then pauses. How do you thank someone for being exactly what you need? “Thank you.” He wishes he had something more to say, some way to express the depth of his gratitude. But Sirius nods his head like he understands, not just what Remus said, but what he means.

Remus is not free of his guilt yet, but sharing his secret is more relief than he had imagined it would be. He has the urge to tell Sirius about other things, like the electric lights his parents had always put on the Christmas tree at home, how they were bright and gaudy and how he’d cried when he had to throw them out. But Sirius is a pureblood wizard, and neither understands electricity nor takes any pains to do so.

It is a minute before Sirius asks, “Do you want me to tell James and Pete to shove off, then?” His voice is deliberately casual, but Remus hears between the lines. Sirius is willing to continue in the role of protector, a role he has designated for himself. But as much as Remus would like to accept the offer, he knows he cannot. It’s Christmas morning for his friends, too.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll tell them, tonight.” He does not expect the statement to be a big deal, but his stomach clenches and turns. The warmth of Sirius’s arm around him is reassuring and he can breathe, but it is hard and everything seems too real. “I’ll tell them,” he repeats, forestalling any more offers of a way out.

“Prongs’ll probably be a bit of a prat about it,” Sirius asserts as if he’s the expert on all things James Potter. He probably is. “But he loves you, you know. We all do.” Remus nods; there is a faint flush on his cheeks. Boys don’t normally talk about love with each other, not even in relation to family or girlfriends. And he and Sirius have just… he blushes more deeply and looks at the floor.

“I’ve always liked Christmas,” he says after a moment. “My father would take us to church every year, and it was always so beautiful, even if Mum and I weren’t really Christian.” He closes his eyes, sinking into the memory. “We’d have presents in the morning. They were mostly books and clothes, but one year, second year, I got a wand. A real wand of my own, from Ollivander’s. My parents had been saving up since I got my Hogwarts letter.”

The pipes groan upstairs as the shower starts up. It seems to remind Sirius that they will not be alone for long, because he pulls away. When Remus opens his eyes, though, he has not gotten up; he is sitting facing him. Remus thinks that Sirius is really quite attractive, especially when he’s looking earnest, as he is now. He wonders what his parents would have thought about this, what they would’ve made of Sirius Black.

“My parents loved it too. My mother just loved winter, actually,” Remus continues. “She always told me that when my father asked her to marry him, she had one condition. She wanted to get married in the snow. Their anniversary is in January.” He tries to smile, but is not quite successful. “My father always teased me that I was the perfect child, the perfect Christmas present for her. I was born during a blizzard.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to ruin the holiday.”

Sirius reaches out, takes Remus’s hand. It is not as natural as it was earlier; time seems to have slowed to a nearly unbearable crawl. “I got you a _horrible_ present, Moony,” Sirius says, in a tone of absolute sincerity. “I’ll have to exchange it.” Remus doubts very much that Sirius’s present is in any way lacking. One of his talents is a knack for gift giving, a talent of which Remus has always been jealous. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Padfoot,” Remus says, his eyes not leaving Sirius’s, “don’t be an idiot. I don’t need special treatment.” But he feels warm all over at the thought that Sirius would want to get him something special, something meaningful.

“You should have something. Your favorite book that you lost, an ornament that reminds you of your tree at home, something. Or at least…” Sirius trails off, but Remus knows that he is thinking of buying something dreadfully expensive, tremendously useful and altogether perfect, that he’d never be able to accept. Only, with Sirius looking at him like that, he thinks he probably _would_ accept it.

“It’s not necessary, Sirius. You’ve given me enough.” Remus takes a breath, then lets it out slowly. “More than enough.” Obeying his instinct, he leans in and kisses Sirius. It is only the third time he has ever done this, and his heart is pounding in his chest. As Sirius responds, Remus realizes that he knows next to nothing about his friend’s prior experiences. He has no idea what this is supposed to mean to either of them.

When they separate, he finds it very hard to look at Sirius, but he forces himself to anyway. He initiated it, and he must be prepared to bear the consequences. Sirius is framed by the fire, which has died down a bit, in reds and golds. There is a slightly awed look on his face, along with something else. Remus worries the carpet with his thumbnail some more and tries not to think about it. It’s not that he thinks he’s misinterpreting things; he’s just afraid of crossing any more boundaries than he already has.

“All right, Sirius?” he asks. A door slams upstairs and James’s voice can be heard yelling at Peter to get _up_ , already.

“All right, Remus,” Sirius responds, with a peculiar drop in his voice. They have not looked away from each other’s eyes, and Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s going to be getting a new racing broom in addition to the gift waiting for him upstairs.

“Oi, Padfoot, Moony!” James’s entirely too cheerful voice cuts through the quiet of the common room. Remus and Sirius both turn to look. James is standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Wormtail’s being a lazy sod. We’re having presents upstairs, if you can tear yourselves away from each other.” With that, he disappears back into the stairwell; Remus wonders what, exactly, James saw.

Sirius sighs and shrugs. Remus silently agrees with him; there is very little that can be done about James being James, even by Sirius, who is James’s best friend. Sirius stands, stretches, and then offers Remus his hand. Remus takes it, and when he gets up, he is very close to Sirius. For a moment, he thinks they might kiss again, and he draws in a sharp breath, but Sirius only murmurs “All right, Moony,” and heads for the stairs.

Before following, Remus looks around the room. It has the history of his six and a half years and Hogwarts written across it, in signs only he knows how to read, but it does not change. It is he who is different. In another few months, he’ll be done with school altogether, and completely alone in the world.

“Oi! Remus!” James calls down. Peter adds, “James is about to start without you.” No, not alone, Remus concedes as he calls up that he’ll be right there. He has never truly been alone while James, Peter, and Sirius have been there. Especially Sirius. He can’t help another blush as he thinks that. There is an itchy feeling under his skin, and he wishes again that he had someone to talk to about these things. Maybe James, he thinks. If he can bear the embarrassment, maybe James will know what he should do.

But there will be time for that later. He turns away from the fire, towards the stairs and the room where his friends are waiting. He will have to tell James and Peter eventually, and he knows it will be worse than with Sirius, though he will have his support. Now, it’s time for him to go upstairs and start a new tradition.

It’s all different, this year. There is no denying that, or trying to pretend. But he knows his parents would have wanted him to gather what’s left, and make the best of it. Sirius, James, and Peter are the best of his life, and he vows never to forget. He vows, as he walks up to the dorm, that they’ll have more Christmases together.

He knows it isn’t perfect, and he knows his problems are only starting. But as James throws an arm around him and makes a lewd joke about him and Sirius, Remus thinks that it is good enough. 

Besides, he has always loved to fly.


End file.
